Fearing Fear Itself
by Lone Songbird
Summary: Events from Labyrinth from the point of view of a minor character for whom, unfortunately, life has always proven to be a bit of a frightening challenge.


_Disclaimers and other such sundry: As always, _Labyrinth_ is still copyright by The Jim Henson Company. Thankfully, actually. I am still not entirely sure if I approve of Disney purchasing the rights to The Muppets, but as this is a site for fanfiction and not a forum for debate on the evils of monopolies and capitalism, I'll not go on._

_In other news, this is fic is in response to a challenge sent out on a mailing list I belong to. I've never actually done one of thse, though I've long since begun wondering from whence these oft referred to challenges arise. Now, it seems, I have an inkling. In any case, here it is. Currently, this is in one shot format. It does leave room for being continued, however, and I will likely do so eventually. Nothing like giving myself even more work._

_All things considered, this piece is not intended to be connected to my other two _Labyrinth_ related stories. However, by that token, there is also no reason why it would _not_ be. You can take it either way, if you wish._

_Finally, I want to say that, although I make light of issues of fear, by no means do I intend to belittle the reality that these fears do, in fact, exist and cause great problems to many people. Everyone has their demons and I certainly have mine. I hope no offense is taken._

_And now, on with the show!_

Fearing Fear Itself

Chapter One

He yawned lazily, stretching his back before settling down in hopes of having a nice, long nap. The likelihood of this not happening was, of course, slim, all things considered. He never got to go anywhere. It was always, "We must stay by the bridge!" day in, day out. Truthfully, it was no wonder he never had any energy. When you are stuck inside all day and cannot go out...

Actually, maybe that was not completely fair. It was not that he _could_ not go out, it was that he _chose_ to not go out. Or, perhaps, _preferred_ to not go out. Or even _despised, loathed,_ or _hated_ going out. After many long years, he had come to the conclusion that he had a mild case of agoraphobia. This made venturing out the door a tad difficult. It truth, it was not so extreme that he was rendered incapable of going outside. But compounded with his olfactophobia... though, really, how could one _not_ develop a fear of bad smells with what lurked outside...

He shuddered convulsively. This current train of thought was not helping him get to sleep. Shifting position slightly, he sighed through the nose and squeezed his eyes shut a little more tightly, as if by doing so it would all just go away. He tried to remember the mantra his therapist suggested in order to relax, but it had slipped away. Instead, he utilized the age-old method of counting sheep.

After getting to the high number of "one", he suddenly remembered why he had stopped using this method. It was not the sheep per se, but thinking of sheep reminded him of cows, and cows reminded him that they go mad at times. Terrible thing, a mad cow. Especially one that reads Che Guevera and decides to rally all the other cows and take on a nation with a large arsenal! Oh sure, he had been told many times that "Cows With Guns" was just a story and not based on historical events in the least. But that is exactly what they said about... about... Well, he was sure they said that about something.

Realizing this was even less relaxing than thinking about the smell (he shuddered again), he squeezed his eyes shut even more tightly and opted for counting bunny rabbits. After all, there is nothing to be worried about when dealing with a tiny, white, fluffy bunny rabbit. In a short while, he finally started drifting off to sleep.

In typical form, that was precisely when the noise began. The large roaring and banging coming from above made him even more nervous. Dust particles began to fall from the ceiling and, as they increased in number, he wondered if he should take a chance and wait outside. Debating which was worse, his fear of open spaces or his amathophobia, he crept slowly toward the door. Just in case, is what he told himself. Just in case the ceiling should decide to cave in entirely. It is best to prepare for the worst, after all.

When silence fell and stillness returned, he found that this was even worse than the dust! How was he to know what had happened if he did not go outside? But how could he go outside if he did not know what had caused whatever it was to happen had not left yet? The dilemma plagued at his mind until he was startled out of his frantic contemplations by the sound of something rumbling and splashing, followed by the shrill scream of a girl.

Could it have been the girl who caused all the rumbling? He had heard these "girl" creatures were a troublesome lot, especially when they reached a certain age. Always whining, always wanting things their own way, never giving an inch when feeling righteous anger. Then there were the infamous tantrums. It made him quiver just to think about it. He had never witnessed any such thing, thank Oberon, but he could imagine the rumours he heard of such things were mild in comparison to the reality of the events.

Before he could take _these_ thoughts any further, a strange howling arose. It was a terrible sound, mournful and pleading, and he felt the rocks that tiled the floor vibrate, seemingly in response. Then, all stopped. The silence and stillness threatened to become uncomfortable once again, but this was forestalled at the sound of someone calling him out from the safety he was certain remained inside the now dusty house. Still, he knew when to obey and he crept outside, peeking his head around the corner.

Didymus stood at the edge of the bog, coaxing him to come out further. "It's all right now," he was saying. A likely story. All that howling and screaming and ruckus and dust falling and now, just like that, it is all right? However, Didymus did seem to be eager and, from what he could tell, planned on actually leaving the bog. Leaving the bog? That, of course, would mean _leaving the smell!!_ Feeling this was as good a reason as any to brave the wide open, he swallowed hard once before taking a deep breath and bursting forward.

Upon reaching the edge, Didymus on his back, he paused. Apparently the idea in the foxy knight's head was to go across the bog by walking on a bunch of rocks. Didymus told him to just close his eyes, as if that would actually help. Instead, he told himself that the bog had too much other... stuff in it, probably best not worth thinking about, to be considered "water" in any case, so his hydrophobia would have no base. Besides, any fear was worth overcoming if it meant not having to overcome his fear of bad smells. That being decided, Ambrosious did precisely as suggested and squeezed his eyes shut, though not nearly as tightly as before, and made a run for it.


End file.
